The Colors of Illusion
by Channel D
Summary: Tim can't identify what he saw in the riverbed, and danger is closing in. If he tells the team his suspicions, they'll just laugh at him. Case file written for the NFA White Elephant Exchange. Now complete.
1. Prologue

**The Colors of Illusion****  
>by channeld<strong>

_written for_: the NFA 2011 White Elephant (Fanfic) Exchange  
><em>rating<em>: K plus  
><em>genre<em>: case file  
><em>starring<em>: Tim and the team  
><em>prompt<em>: _Iridescence: iridescent quality; a play of lustrous, changing colors.  
>author's note:<em> In this story I'm using "phoofs"-those black and white stills the show has-at the start of each chapter.

* * *

><p>disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

* * *

><p>[phoof]<p>

_Tim's head is above water, in a river. He looks distressed._

[/phoof]

* * *

><p>On this fine early June day in West Virginia, where it was sunny and mild, more than 50 NCIS employees gathered on the river's edge. There, several bright red, orange, yellow or lime green inflated rafts waited for passengers.<p>

"S'matter, Probie?" Tony teased as he applied sunscreen to his arms. "You're not afraid of a little whitewater rafting, are you?"

"I'm not afraid of the rafting," Tim shot back. "I just don't see why…_this_ is the choice for an NCIS teambuilding exercise. _Rafting_. It's not like this is something…that's likely to help us in our jobs. Why couldn't we just have fun and do a bicycle race, like we did last June?"

_"Everyone, grab a life vest!"_ one of the rafting company workers bellowed through a cordless megaphone. _"That's rule #1:_ _**No one goes on the river without a life vest on!**__"_

"I thought rule #1 was _Never let suspects stay together_," said Ziva, with a smile.

"That, or _Never screw over your partner_," Jimmy chimed in.

"We should get a ruling from Gibbs on this," Tony grinned. Their "boss" was a short distance away, chatting with one of the other rafting company workers. "Maybe he can set these guys straight." He saw that Tim was still frowning. "Now, now, McGastro; afraid you'll toss your cookies on the river? Serve you right for having cookies for breakfast."

A woman wearing the rafting company t-shirt overheard, and came closer to their little group. "Seasickness? Is that your worry? It won't happen. No one gets seasick on a river."

"Our man here is _very _capable," Tony said, clapping a hand on Tim's shoulder. "He can get seasick stepping over a puddle." He ignored Tim's venomous look.

The woman smiled. "Be that as it may, the dynamics of a river are different. Believe me; we've never had anyone get seasick on any of our water adventures. There will be brief moments of movement when you hit the rapids, but you'll be concentrating on steering and your brain won't have a chance to even _think_of getting seasick. You'll see!" She walked off.

"Thank you, Tony, for publicly humiliating me once again," Tim growled.

"Oh, come on. You're used to a little ribbing by now. And who says I'm not trying to cheer you up? It'll be fun! You'll like it! I assure you!"

"Have _you _ever done this?" Tim challenged.

Tony ignored the question. "Hey! They're signaling for group number 4! That's us! Come on!"

"Come on, Tim; be a sport," Abby cajoled him. "You shouldn't let it get to you."

"Let _what _get to me?" Tim shot back.

"Nothing. Nothing," she said quickly, and moved away, but not without exchanging knowing looks with Ziva, Tony and Jimmy.

_It had been two weeks, yet seemingly no one was willing to forget it. Tim couldn't forget it, but he wished that the others would at least try…but no. He could see the amusement in their eyes, tinged with a little pity. Tim McGee; the man taken in by an illusion. Tim, who'd insisted on a case that he'd seen _something_. Insisted for days, until at last proven wrong. Tim, who had cost the team several man-hours in fruitlessly chasing a lead that was never there to begin with._

Gibbs was, well, maybe not understanding, but willing to let it blow over, although probably not if it happened again.

It _wouldn't_ happen again.

"Let's go rafting," he said, dredging up some cheer from within.

* * *

><p>The raft held eight, comfortably. That was the perfect size for a group that worked so closely together, and included a guide from the rafting company; a petite woman named Sheila. Here the river was rated as class III in rafting terms: a good thrill for novice and intermediate rafters with waves here and there, narrow passages, and fast currents. With life vests and helmets on, the group boarded their assigned raft, which was red. Tony and Tim took the front row. Abby and Ziva sat behind them, Ducky and Jimmy had the next row, and Gibbs, the most accomplished person on a boat, had a seat in the stern. "The stern man in the stern," quipped Abby, who was the only one who could get away with that.<p>

After final instructions and words of encouragement from a rafting company person, they were off; paddling downstream. Group Gibbs, as Abby dubbed it, launched after the group from Legal. "They should be _behind _us," Tim grouched. "I want witnesses in case I sue the company when I do get seasick…Thanks, boss," he added at the head slap that was passed up the line from the stern of the boat.

The sun was dazzling on the water, and all were glad for their sunglasses, as well as the carefully-applied bug repellent and sun block. Office work was never so problematic as the outdoor was! Cell phones had been ordered turned off, ipods stowed away, no distractions from the force of the river and the beauty of the forests along the river banks.

When the first set of rapids approached, Group Gibbs was a little apprehensive but prepared for it. There had already been a little wave action, and water ran across the floor of the self-bailer raft. They were all a bit wet, but cheerful as spray after spray hit them.

Then, a sudden current action, combined with some confusion about paddling direction, caused the raft to tip without warning…and Tim, in the lowest corner, was thrown overboard.

They all knew Tim could swim, and that the life vest would keep him afloat. Yet, there was a typically-human amount of concern for him (along with a laugh from Tony) when it happened. Tim bobbed to the surface, and Sheila-the-guide managed to both bark orders to the others to bring the raft around while also calling out reassurance to Tim.

"McGee! Give me your hand!" Gibbs ordered, although the raft was now several feet away from Tim, and Tim would need to climb back into the bow of the raft, anyway.

But then Tim did something unexpected. Rather than swimming toward the raft, or waiting for it to come back to him, he struggled to unfasten his life vest, and tossed it at the raft, where Ziva caught it. "Tim! What are you doing?" Abby cried as he took a deep breath and then dived.

"He may be in trouble," Ducky said. "One of us should…"

Tony was already kicking off his sneakers and shedding his sunglasses and cell phone. "How deep is it here?" he asked Sheila, in just a moment's hesitation.

"About seven to ten feet deep. But still, rocks…be careful…" But Tony had already jumped in and started swimming toward where Tim had last been seen.

Before he got there, Tim surfaced again. "Hey!" he called. "There's a _body_ down here! A _sailor_!"


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

* * *

><p>[phoof]<p>

_Tim puts himself between Sheila and the body, not letting her get too close_

[/phoof]

* * *

><p>Tim sat on the grass of the riverbank and watched as Ducky and Jimmy carefully looked over the body, which now rested nearby. That pristine white of the sailor's wet crackerjack uniform had quickly picked up trace sand and dust from its new surroundings. It seemed like an affront to its dignity.<p>

_Watching_ was about all that any of them could do without their field equipment. Ziva and Tony had already snapped dozens of pictures with their cell phones, but until the pair of agents that Gibbs had summoned arrived from DC, driving the MCRT truck and the Autopsy van, their investigative training wasn't worth much.

"I am soooooooo _thrilled_ to be at a crime scene! It _almost never _happens to me!" Abby trilled for the third time, over Gibbs' shaking head.

"Abbs—you might as well go back to the rafting company site, get in your car and head back home. Not going to finish the rafting trip today."

"Aw, Gibbs! I can be of help! I can analyze evidence!"

He gave her a sideways look. "You got a master mass spec in your pocket?"

"Well, no, but I can bag and tag…I've always wanted to do that! Fresh at the crime scene! Apprentice Agent Abby!" She saluted.

"Can't do that. We might lose points in court if the evidence is first handled by someone other than an agent." Gibbs turned to Ducky. "Time of death?"

Ducky looked up at him, from his crouched position. "Jethro, I no more carry a liver probe in my pocket than Abigail carries a mass spectrometer in hers. From the discoloration and bloating of the skin, I would guess…24 to 48 hours. Perhaps. So many factors involved, however: the water temperature, the salinity of the water…"

Tim noticed that Sheila Flynn, the guide, was stealing yet another nervous glance at the body, while keeping a fair distance. Once again Gibbs told her, patiently, that it was okay for her to go back to the rafting company's building; she really didn't need to hang around. Once again she replied that it wasn't right for her to leave her customers. She was a cute thing, Tim thought; curly blonde hair and a sweet, girl-next-door personality. She'd probably never seen a dead body. Good thing it wasn't freaking her out.

Tony flopped down beside Tim then, interrupting his thoughts of a kayaking experience, just him and Sheila. Tim sighed, but Tony wanted to chat. "Man, I hate this," Tony said, wringing a last few drops of water from his polo shirt. "I want to be doing something. Other than just snapping 50 pictures on my phone because I can."

"Helping me haul a body from the bottom of the river, after freeing it from weighted stones, wasn't enough excitement for you?"

"That part's done. I want to be poking at things; getting a look at what else is down there on the river bottom. Give me a scuba tank and I won't even complain about getting wet again."

Only nodding, Tim had to admit that he felt the same way. Gibbs, however, wasn't in a hurry. The underwater stuff, he said, was best left to the experts. An NCIS forensic dive team was on its way there from Norfolk. All Gibbs' team could do was wait…and eye the dive buoy marking the spot that had been placed there by the rafting company.

But there was more…more that Tim was reluctant to give voice to, since Gibbs had ordered them all to stay away from the spot until the dive team came. Tony hadn't said anything about it. This meant either that Tony hadn't noticed it, or…Tim had imagined it.

'It' had been something _fantastic_; almost a vision, or a spectacular special effect. It was that which had caught Tim's eye when he went overboard and his head went underwater. Without it, he might not have even seen the sailor, despite his being clothed in the white uniform. No, it was the pile of something…_iridescent _that he had seen. It had outlined the body, as if shining a light upon it. The lightest pastel colors; yellows and pinks and blues and greens, glowing, shimmering…

And then when he had torn off his life vest, and dived, the lights were still there…but a little fainter. His churning motion in the water seemed to make them lose their luster. There had been no time to think about it, no time to do anything but free the body from the rocks pinning it, since they only had as much air as was in their lungs. Tony had made for shore, towing the body. Tim didn't argue, even though his first instinct would have been to take it to the raft, as unlikely a fit as that would have been. From there, Group Gibbs fell into expected work mode…as well as they could, without equipment.

Ziva sat down on Tim's other side. "I had not realized how quickly I had become used to having the portable fingerprint scanner," she remarked with a touch of sadness. "Without it…that man might as well be nameless."

"He's wearing dog tags," Tim pointed out. "Seaman Robert A. Kinsky. You saw them."

"Yes, but we cannot be sure that that is his name. He may have been using a false identity. Or his killer may have been trying to throw us off the track. We are suspicious; it is our job to rely on _evidence_; not on what we see."

It was true. Gathering that evidence relied on technology, and technology had become too much a part of their job. Fifteen years ago, Gibbs said, he would have phoned NCIS and had someone there find out where Seaman Kinsky was stationed. Then, he would have phoned Kinsky's CO to ask if he was missing. Nowadays, though, NCIS wouldn't contact the Navy without some evidence that this body matched the name on the tags. Painful past experience showed there was nothing to be gained by erroneously alarming survivors. They could wait a few hours to match fingerprints.

"Truck and van are here," Gibbs announced at the sound of the motors. "Let's get to work."

* * *

><p>With their equipment at hand, the affair fast became like any other case. Tim usually brought along the portable fingerprint scanner with his gear to a crime scene, but somewhere along the line Gibbs had convinced Vance to spring for another, one that was always carried in the van. Tim was cheered by that.<p>

AIFIS confirmed that the fingerprints did indeed belong to a Seaman Kinsky, although the news seemed anticlimactic now. Ducky guessed the time of death to be around 36 hours ago, but wasn't willing to speculate on a cause of death. "Too many variables," he mumbled. "When we get this hapless young man back to NCIS…then we shall see what he has to tell us."

Soon the Autopsy van was loaded with the body of the seamen, and Ducky and Jimmy started off for DC. In the back of the van were also the two agents who'd driven the MCRT truck and the Autopsy van to the river site. The agents, who didn't see much field work, did not look pleased to be privileged to ride next to a body for a couple of hours. Their bad luck. Abby had managed to avoid being sent back, somehow, and now sat with Tony and Ziva playing some sort of guessing game.

They were back to_ hurry up and wait _mode. The forensic dive team was still nearly an hour away. Until the divers had retrieved anything of the remotest interest from the river bottom, the MCRT was going nowhere, Gibbs said.

Tim watched as the body-marking buoy bobbed in the gentle current, his eyes lining it up with a tall white pine tree on the opposite bank, much like the one he was leaning against now. He wasn't sure why it seemed so important to him to mark it in his mind, other than some vague, silly notion that _I saw the body first; I have responsibility for it._

Then Sheila-the-guide interrupted his thoughts. "Goodness; you people really are thorough, aren't you?" she said.

"We have to be. Successfully building a case for an arrest and conviction depends on it."

"That's fascinating," she murmured.

"You really don't have to stick around, you know," he said to her, as Gibbs and Ziva had said to her before.

"I know. I just feel…pulled in by it."

"Well, don't get too close," he said with a smile. "This is a crime scene, and normally we don't allow civilians where we're working."

"You think it's a crime?" she asked, wide-eyed. "I thought the poor man simply…drowned."

"He was weighted down with stones," Tim said. "It would be hard for him to do that to himself, accidentally."

* * *

><p>The leader of the two-man NCIS forensics dive team, Agent Southland, scowled at Gibbs as he examined the scene on the river bank and started pitting on his diving gear. "You couldn't wait for us? You had to jump the gun and retrieve the body? That comes under our jurisdiction."<p>

"Didn't know if he might not still be alive," Gibbs said in a mild tone. Southland harrumphed and, with his partner, dived.

When the divers were finished, about an hour later, the results were mildly disappointing. The only things found on the river bottom were a tarp, weighted in one corner by a rock, and a cellphone.

"There's nothing else?" Tim asked in surprise. "Nothing at all? You didn't see—" He stopped himself in time.

"Didn't see what?" asked Southland.

"Uh, anything…unusual."

"McGee!" Gibbs snapped. "When you become a certified diver, maybe then I'll let you question their methods."

"Yes, boss. Sorry, boss. Sorry," he added to the divers, his face red.

"It's okay," the other diver smiled. "I would have liked to have found something exciting, like a crate of weapons. But it doesn't always work out that way."

"Well, thanks for coming," said Gibbs, shaking their hands. "Appreciate the help."

"We'll be off, then, if you don't need us," said Southland, pointedly turned away from Tim. "It's a long drive back to Norfolk, and it'll be dark soon." Indeed, the sun was headed down behind the western hills.

"Let's load up, too," Gibbs said to his people. "Nothing more to see here."

Tim wasn't so sure about that. There was nothing to be gained, however, in relating his strange vision. With reluctance, he got in a rafting company jeep for the ride back to their building, where his car was parked.

Tony had carpooled with Tim to West Virginia; now he would be driving the MCRT truck back. They all would meet up at HQ. What had started out as a fun Saturday outing had morphed into something potentially sinister.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

><p>[phoof]<br>_Abby looks at Gibbs, disturbed. The idea of one person killing another is repugnant to her._  
>[phoof]

* * *

><p>They were not supposed to be on duty this weekend, but Gibbs was not one to give up a case to another team, willingly, once his team had started it. So it was that the rafting Group Gibbs transformed back into the MCRT and arrived back at Headquarters as evening approached. After notifying Kinsky's CO of the young sailor's death, Gibbs said to his team, "Let's see how much we can get done on this tonight. Maybe I can let you all have tomorrow off." It was small comfort, winding up with one day out of seven off, but they were used to it. Maybe next weekend would be all theirs.<p>

His clothes (now dry) still feeling uncomfortably steeped in river organic-ness, Tim nonetheless got on his computer and dug for about 20 minutes before routing his findings to the team's plasma screen. "Seaman Apprentice Robert Ambrose Kinsky; age 20," Tim announced as they all looked at the images. "Hometown, Peekskill, New York. Stationed at Norfolk. Enlisted in January 2010 after dropping out of community college. Track star in high school. Not married. No close relatives; parents both deceased, A few minor commendations on his military record; no blemishes."

"No blemishes? How did he get through his teens without acne?" Tony commented, earning a glare from the others.

"How did he get from Norfolk to the river in West Virginia?" Gibbs asked. "Ziva—"

"I will trace his leave request and transportation off base," she said, reaching for her desk phone.

"Tony—"

"Digging up other businesses in the area; see if anyone's seen him."

"McGee—"

"I'll check phone records and credit card records, boss."

"I want results by the time I get back!" Gibbs ordered, heading for the elevator.

They were a little surprised at his ferocity. "Wow. Someone must be missing a quiet, intimate evening with a woodworking project," Tony murmured.

* * *

><p>"What can you tell me, Duck?" Gibbs' words preceded him into Autopsy.<p>

"That I will need more time to give you an answer that will satisfy you, Jethro." Ducky looked up from the table on which the seaman's body rested. "Young Kinsky died likely about 28-32 hours ago; sometime Friday afternoon. Drowning was not the cause of death. The absence of water in his lungs tells us that."

"So he was dead before he was put in the water."

"Yes. I haven't ruled out natural causes yet."

Gibbs looked surprised. "So it might not have been a homicide?"

"It's possible. So far we have not found any wounds or abrasions. Abby is doing toxicology tests."

* * *

><p>"Nothing yet, O Captain, my Captain of the inflated river-going vessel," Abby said in response to him, while staring at a screen. "I'm running tests on minute elements that might be on Seaman Kinsky's skin and hair, as well as in his tissues, but so far…nothing out of the ordinary."<p>

"You've screened out whatever's in the river water?"

"I did. I thought to bring back a sample of the river water. I figured the river could spare a vialful, so I borrowed a vial from the MCRT truck. I've tested for normal river-ish behavior in the Mid-Atlantic states." She indicated a chart of lines and dots on another computer screen. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Ducky says he was dead _before_ he went in the water."

"Oh, so? So it wasn't anything in the river that killed him. I guess that just happened to be a convenient place to dispose of the body," Abby shivered. She might like skeletons and such, but the idea of one person killing another was repugnant to her.

"Don't know yet that it was a homicide."

"Then why would this man travel all the way from…wherever he was stationed… to West Virginia to die, along a stretch of the Potomac River?"

Gibbs couldn't answer that.

* * *

><p>"I want my answers," Gibbs said, entering the squad room with a fresh coffee in hand, and hot drinks for his team as well.<p>

Tony spoke up first. "Unfortunately, it's Saturday night in the boondocks and the locals have rolled up the hiking trails, and just about everything else in the area is locked up tight. I did reach the four bars within a five-mile radius…that's really wilderness, with a capital 'Wild', you know. In Baltimore, four bars would be the number on one block (two sides of the street). One not-very-long block, at that."

"DiNozzo…"

"Anyway, none had seen a man fitting his description in the last few days. You want me to drive out there and canvas the area?" Something in Tony's tone showed that he hoped Gibbs would say 'no'.

"Maybe Monday. Ziver?"

"It is very curious. There have been no abandoned vehicles found in that area, leading me to believe that Kinsky did not drive himself there. No outfitters have rented hiking and camping gear to anyone matching Kinsky's description recently. Public transportation—there is none for miles; not even a bus or a taxi."

"Someone gave him a ride," Gibbs nodded. "Was he still alive at the time; that's another question."

* * *

><p>"He didn't die elsewhere, say, in Norfolk, only to be transported to West Virginia," Ducky said soon thereafter when Gibbs revisited Autopsy. "That would be apparent in the type of decomposition."<p>

"So someone brought him to West Virginia and killed him there?" asked Jimmy, who then, under Gibbs' stern look, shrank back to his own work.

"Did he go there willingly, or what?" Gibbs wondered. "That may be the most important question."

"What would be in it for him to visit that bucolic, albeit off-the-beaten-path location?" Ducky mused. "Answer that, and the rest may start to fall into place."

* * *

><p>"Boss, I've traced Kinsky's cellphone records and debit and credit card," Tim announced when Gibbs returned to the squad room. "He was too young to have a significant credit history. Just a gas station credit card, last used two months ago; a MasterCard with a $750 credit limit—all paid off except for a $39.26 balance, but not used since January; and his bank ATM card."<p>

"Anything unusual there?"

"You might say so." He magnified the transactions on the screen. There were cash deposits of $500; 31 of them in the last 90 days.

"When you're only 20, that must seem like a fortune," Tony remarked.

"Particularly on an E2's pay," Gibbs grunted. "Those were cash deposits?"

"Yep. Cash, not checks. I can try to trace the exact bills if you want, but we may need a warrant for that…"

"Don't bother. The bills will have vanished into circulation, and I doubt the serial numbers are consecutive, so they wouldn't tell us where they came from. Withdrawals?"

"Nothing significant; small amounts here and there. The balance in his account is $21,795.18. That was the only account belonging to him that turned up. The last transaction was two days ago, in Norfolk. He withdrew $120."

Ziva said, "He was last seen on base yesterday morning. He had a pass for weekend leave, and left base at 10:35 a.m."

"You asked about phone records, boss," said Tim. "Abby's got the cell phone drying out now. What we know about the calls he made were that they were pretty mundane."

"No calls home to the family, or a girl?"

"Still tracing those…Nothing recent, anyway."

"A dull life for a dull boy," Tony said.

"A wealthy one," Ziva put in.

"Twenty-one grand is not what I call 'wealth', although it's nice to have. Unless he has more salted away in gold bricks or the like."

"If he was involved in something illegal, he was being taken advantage of," Gibbs stared at the plasma screen. "$500 is a small amount for a payoff for almost anything—even if regular."

"Crooks have to start somewhere, too."

"I want to go to Norfolk, and talk to the people he worked with," said Ziva. "Tomorrow I shall go."

Gibbs turned to her. "I was going to give you all tomorrow off. We've had a long week as it is."

"Thank you, but I would rather go before the trail gets cold. McGee, would you like to come with me?" she smiled.

Tim spread his hands. "I would, Ziva, but I have…something…I have plans."

She looked disappointed for a second. "All right. Tony?"

"I, uh, have plans, too. Better ones than he has, I'm sure," Tony said, and didn't miss Tim's cold look.

"Okay. Go if you wish, Ziva. You can take comp time another day. Keep in touch with me. Let's call it a night; it's almost 10. Tony, Tim—have a good day off. I'll see you all back here on Monday."

"G'night, everyone," Tim said, tossing his empty coffee cup in the trash_. Now I can check out my suspicions on Sunday, with no one else around…_

* * *

><p>Tim had things to do at home, first, before he could put his Sunday plans into action. A half hour's searching on the web brought him was he was looking for, and he called the phone number provided. To his delight, it was the cell phone number of the small company proprietor, who answered readily. Yes, he had the stuff Tim desired. No, he didn't mind getting Tim set up on a Sunday morning.<p>

A meeting time agreed upon, Tim set the alarm for a very early hour and went to bed. This time, he'd do his leg work and have evidence before he voiced his suspicions. Even so, a soft, high-pitched voice in his mind pleaded, _Don't do this…_

_If I listened to every warning voice that popped into my head, I'd never get anywhere,_ Tim thought recklessly as he turned out the light.

* * *

><p><em>In his dream, he was on a train…one rushing headlong into a cloud of colors. "Boss! Ziva! Tony! Look out!" he screamed. But no one seemed to hear him.<em>

_Slowly their heads turned to him, and they started to laugh. They were laughing at him. Embarrassed and feeling small, he regretted having said anything. It would have been better to wait for proof._

_And still the train hurtled toward oblivion._


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

><p>[phoof]<p>

_Tim's head turns and sees someone in a motorboat watching him._

[/phoof]

* * *

><p>"Where did you want to stop along here, Agent McGee?" asked Charlie Stoppard. He was, in appearance, the opposite of what one would expect of an outfitters' proprietor. No checkered flannel shirt and long beard, but rather a neat button-down shirt, clean-shaven face, short hair and wire-rimmed glasses. His one measure of individuality was his ball cap, which bore the legend, <em>My other vehicle is a canoe.<em> He was bright, likely well-educated, and Tim warmed to him.

Tim looked out the window of the truck as they rolled along. "There was a buoy placed in the river yesterday. I want to be near it. A little upstream, but not too far." No, not far at all. He didn't want the rafting company to know he'd been here, in case Gibbs had them questioned for the case.

"Saw it this morning. The Hamsel Rafting Company put it there? Looked like one of theirs."

"You saw it? You were there?"

Stoppard chuckled. "People always get the notion that a company _owns_ a section of the river. That's not so."

"It's on their land, isn't it?...Uh, I guess that sounds stupid…"

"The fight went to the Supreme Court. Navigable waterways, such as rivers, were determined to be held in trust for the public. They're owned only by the states in which they flow."

"So everyone has access to the river."

"Yep. My main territory is downstream of here, since canoeists aren't as fond of whitewater. But I've brought people to this point."

"I, uh, guessed that Hamsel didn't have any underwater gear, so I called you."

"You were right on both counts. They don't, and I do. Jock Hamsel doesn't care for the underwater stuff. He doesn't know what he misses. Sure, I outfit customers with canoes and tents, but I always put in a pitch for scuba diving. It's a beautiful world down there."

Reaching the spot, Stoppard parked his truck. Together with Tim, he hauled out the scuba gear, and helped Tim get it attached after Tim had put on a wet suit. "You _have_ done this before, you said?" Stoppard asked.

"A time or two. I know how it works."

"Well, then, I'll trust your judgment. You did sign the waiver. You want to phone me when you're ready to leave, or should I just swing back by here for you?"

Tim thought. "Come by in two hours. That should be plenty of time."

"Fine. That way you'll miss the start of Hamsel's rafting day. It might be awkward, having them come across a surfacing diver."

_I couldn't agree more._ "Okay. See you in two, then."

Stoppard eyed him. "You didn't say how you knew about the buoy."

"It's part of an ongoing investigation," Tim said with a small smile. No point in covering up; Hamsel employees would probably have already started to talk about the finding of the body. By the time that word got back to NCIS about Tim's little excursion (if it did), the case would be wrapped up…he hoped.

* * *

><p>He'd enjoyed the few times he had been scuba diving. The underwater world was quiet and beautiful, and as long as the water wasn't too deep (Tim had an itching fear of deep water), it was a pleasure. This time, pleasure was put aside for business…and an answer to the riddle of the lights he'd seen.<p>

With Stoppard gone, Tim looked both ways, upstream and downstream, but saw no one. No humans, anyway. On the opposite bank, two deer appeared out of the trees, and seemed to watch him. Tim smiled. Then he frog-stepped into the river, and let the water close over his head.

Swimming just under the surface, keeping an eye out for the buoy, he found the spot pretty quickly, and dove the estimated nine feet to the river bottom. The view was a little different today, as he was looking through a diving mask. Objects—stones, seaweed, shells—looked bigger and closer. He remembered this would be the case, and compensated for it.

The river bed had largely corrected itself from the removal of the body yesterday, and Tim was at a loss to know exactly where it had been. The buoy, floating above, was a clue, but who knew how accurate the Hamsel Company had been at placing it? Tim grimaced in frustration. Had it been over there, by that reddish rock? Or maybe…The point was, the body was just a reference point. It was the colored things he was looking for, and he wasn't seeing them.

He dug into the mud and sand at the river bottom, only coming up with mud and sand, and a few pebbles and shells. Nothing out of the ordinary, in appearance. _But I saw it!_ He knew he hadn't imagined the colors; they were so vivid in his memory.

Had they been jewels? But why would Kinsky have been weighted down with jewels around him? If they were part of a theft, why put the jewels there, unless the murderer intended to come back for them later (and did, in fact)? And if they weren't jewels, then what were they? Pieces of colored glass, or shells? And what would they be doing there?

Even supposing someone had come along and removed the evidence, as he was beginning to believe, if the lights were made of many little parts, most likely one or two would have been overlooked, and left behind. _I should be able to find it…_but nothing glowed, nothing shimmered or glimmered, nothing appeared even as remotely colorful as he had remembered.

Tim checked his watch and saw that he had only 12 minutes before Stoppard returned for him. He might as well stop now. Placing a few shells and pebbles in his waist pouch as souvenirs, he surfaced.

"Hey, pal! Find anything of interest?"

Surprised, Tim turned to the sound, while treading water. It was one of the Hamsel brothers (Tim wasn't sure which one), in a motorboat.

Tim suddenly didn't want to be identified, so he lowered his voice. He knew that in the full wet suit, his own mother might not recognize him. "Nope. Little disappointed. You hear these talks about gold in the rivers," he said as inspiration hit.

"That's true. Someone may find some, sometime, washed down from the mountains. But I've never seen any in the Potomac. Or any other river, for that matter. Guess I'm not a lucky guy," he laughed. "I wish you better luck."

"Thanks," Tim replied, and waved as the boat moved on.

_This was a waste of a day,_ Tim thought, not looking forward to the long drive home.

* * *

><p>On Monday morning Tim arrived at work early. Ziva was already there. "Hi," he said, pulling his chair over to her desk. "How did Norfolk go?"<p>

"I took many notes," she said, pulling out her Blackberry. "I was about to start editing them. Can you wait until Gibbs and Tony get here, so I do not have to go through my speech twice?"

"Oh, sure. That's all right."

"And how was your Sunday?"

"I, uh…" _Go on! It's Ziva! You can trust her. Maybe. Or maybe she'd just laugh._ "I didn't do much. Went swimming." _Dang; I hate lying. Well, it's not exactly a lie…_ He fingered the pebbles and shells, which he kept in his pocket.

"I was not aware that the municipal swimming pools were open yet. I thought that would be next weekend?"

"I didn't go to a municipal pool." _Well, that much was truthful._ "Anyway, it was a quiet day, pretty much."

"Good," Ziva said with a friendly smile. "I am glad that your day off was good."

"Yeah." She rose to get something from the break room, and Tim went back to his desk. He'd been on the verge of asking her if she knew anything about gemstones and colored glass, but realized what he wanted to know—how they would appear underwater—was something she probably had no experience with. He could research that himself.

_But I want to find out something before the trail goes cold…_

The MCRT stood before the plasma screen while Ziva spoke. "As Tony said on Saturday, Kinsky led almost a dull life. His mates on the base said he was quiet, kept mostly to himself, and read a lot of e-books. He had no vices that they knew of, did not drink nor smoke, did not like to party, and had no family that he was supporting. His needs were simple."

"And no one would miss him if he disappeared," Tony observed.

"That is what I thought, yes. But then his CO said something interesting…Kinsky, as I said, liked to read. Not just fiction. He read scientific publications…not necessarily highly technical ones, but one that a well-read layman can follow."

"I thought he dropped out of college," said Tim.

"He did, but not because he could not do the work. He ran out of money. So he enlisted in the Navy. He had hoped to return to school once his enlistment was over."

"What specifically was he reading?" asked Gibbs.

"I have turned his e-book reader over to Abby in hopes that she can find that out."

"So we have a good kid, all for the fact that he was getting money from somewhere, and no one at Norfolk seems to know anything about that," Tony summarized.

"Yes. I specifically asked his CO if he could think of anything illegal that Kinsky might have been involved in, or any way in which he could have picked up extra money, and he said no."

"Who did he report to?" asked Gibbs, his arms crossed. "And did you talk to Moe McGuthrie?"

"Yes, Base Commander Captain McGuthrie said he did not know Kinsky. Did not recall having ever met him. He had reviewed Kinsky's service record by the time I came, and could only say that he seemed to have been a fine sailor. Kinsky's Petty Officer is…was… a Petty Officer First Class Jason Abernathy. He could not provide any other news. He said he liked him, was a good man, the whole thing. He appeared to be very saddened by Kinsky's death."

"Sounds like Kinsky did a good job of not letting anyone know him too well," Tim remarked. He couldn't really fault to young man for that; Tim recognized his own introvert tendencies.

* * *

><p>"This one's really a stumper, isn't it, Doctor Mallard?" Jimmy said with some cheer. With a gloved hand he scratched the back of his neck, which had gotten sunburned on Saturday. Then after a brief glare from Ducky, he shed that glove and got a fresh one.<p>

"It is a puzzle, Mister Palmer," Ducky acknowledged as he made another incision on the corpse. Silently he wondered if he was making incisions now just for the sake of making incisions.

"Have you ever not reached a conclusion in an autopsy? I mean, er…you do make the job seem easier than it is…"

"No need to try to spare my feelings, Mister Palmer. I am only human, and therefore, fallible. There have been two cases in my career when I was not successful in determining a cause of death. And yes, I do regret those."

Jimmy looked uncharacteristically sober. "You must have felt like you weren't giving the dead an easy rest."

Ducky pursed his lips. "That ventures into the spiritual."

"Sorry…"

"No, it's all right. You are right in that I regret it, and regret feeling that I could not do more for the dead. I do not like not finding the answers. We are the last stop in these people's lives, and it behooves us to make their fates known, to provide closure for their families, and justice where warranted."

"We don't seem to be getting anywhere with Seaman Kinsky."

Ducky sighed. "No. But I am not ready to write it off as 'natural causes' yet. He was a young man in the full bloom of life. He was very healthy. He should not just have died."

"Unless he was talented enough to weigh himself down with stones in a river before he died," Gibbs said, coming in.

Jimmy grinned, which should have been a warning sign. "Maybe he was practicing to be an escape artist, like Houdini and his trick went wrong."

"_Mister Palmer,"_ Ducky said with a greater sigh.

But Gibbs only stared at Jimmy for a long minute before looking like he understood. "Maybe, Palmer. Just maybe. I'll keep that in mind." He went back out, leaving Ducky looking surprised, and Jimmy grinning all the more.

* * *

><p>Gibbs' next stop was Abby's lab, where she spun on a heel as she sensed him come in. "Gibbs-san! You have to get Ducky and Jimmy to give me something more to work with from the body. Seaman's Kinsky's core material is so unremarkable that he might as well still be alive!"<p>

"Can't help that. What else you got?"

"Well, with nothing new organically, I've turned my attention to his phone and his e-book reader. First, the phone." She displayed the records on a screen. "It's a pretty fancy phone for someone in his pay rate, particularly one without many friends and no family to call. I guess he liked it for the bells and whistles. It was purchased only three months ago, and mostly used for going on the internet."

"Where'd he go?"

"Lots of places. But these stand out: half a dozen sites about pseudo-science wacko stuff. Parapsychology and that kind of junk."

Gibbs smiled and put his hands on her shoulders. "Abbs, you're the most superstitious person I know, and you believe Ouija boards work."

"The first one isn't to be sneered at, and as for the second, I'm keeping a scientifically open mind," she said firmly. "But anyway, either Kinsky believed in this, or—"

"—or else he found it fun to read about. The e-book reader?"

"Okay. I was able to pull off his download history. By the way, the reader was purchased right about the same time as the phone. Did he come into money then?"

"Looks like it."

"So he starts downloading stuff. Some of it is novels; mostly thrillers, military fiction. He appears to have been a big fan of Horatio Hornblower. But the rest…Gibbs, they're articles on more of this parapsychology stuff, from a youdo-voodoo standpoint. Like he was immersing himself in it. Trying to learn how to do it. Now why would someone kill him over that?"

It was a good question. Gibbs only shrugged, and left.

* * *

><p>Later at home Tim scoured the web for clues as to what he'd seen. He looked at hundreds of images of gem stones, but none of them seemed right. For one thing, the stones tended to be too dark. Even the paler ones, like rhodochrosite and topaz, seemed to be dark. He remembered pastel-like colors; almost like something created in a cartoon. The optical density of the gemstone determined the refraction, or the rate at which light entering the stone was slowed down, which in turn determined how the eye perceives it.<p>

That was all very well and good, but all it did in Tim's mind was to rule out gemstones. Too bad; connecting a criminal to wealth was a time-honored motive, no matter how bizarre the circumstances might be. _Follow the money._

If not gemstones, then what? Colored glass? But even very pale colored glass was unlikely. What would be the reason for it? It didn't have the value of gemstones.

Tim tried to think of other things. Naturally-occurring things in the river? He remembered that his mother had a couple pieces of jewelry, Mother of pearl, or _nacre,_ as it was properly named, according to the web. It was the inner lining of mollusk shells and some other sea shells. Yes, that might fit what he saw. But why hadn't Tony seen it? And why had Tim found no trace of it? And why was it around the body to begin with?

He picked up his phone. "Tony, I need to know. When we dived down for the body Saturday, did you…see anything unusual around it?"

Tony hooted. _"Are you back to seeing things, McScrewy? Maybe you need a vacation."_

"Forget it, then," Tim snapped, ending the call. _I've gotta stop asking questions on impulse._

* * *

><p>Unknown to Tim, outside his apartment building, two men waited in a dark car with the lights and the motor off. They would wait until Tim's lights went off.<p>

They were patient. They could wait all night if they needed to.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

><p>[phoof]<p>

_Looking surprised, Tim stares at the pebbles and shells in his hand._

[/phoof]

* * *

><p>It was the growling of his dog that woke Tim less than an hour after he'd dropped off to sleep. "Jethro?" Tim called, quietly, and then listened. Jethro was not in the bedroom.<p>

Quietly, Tim got out of bed and crept out of the bedroom. His cellphone face plate gave him enough light to see by. Since Jethro hadn't erupted into protective mayhem, this meant that the threat was outside. Tim allowed himself a minute to get his sig out of his locked drawer in the living room.

Sure enough, Jethro faced the apartment door, 79 pounds of bristling threat. "What's out there, boy?" Tim whispered. He had a good peephole in the door, one he'd installed himself, that blocked out light from within the apartment. Not even his eyeball would be visible to whoever was outside in the apartment building hallway.

Bad news. The hallway was dark. Someone had tampered with the lights. Tim could just make out one…no, two dark shapes. One was very close to the door.

A slight touch on the door, perhaps the knob. Tim felt it. That was enough to make Jethro explode in a storm of barking and lunging at the door. Above that, Tim thought he heard a soft curse from the hallway, and the two shapes disappeared from view.

When Jethro had calmed down and trotted away from the door, Tim at last became aware that his pulses were racing. The threat was over, at least for now, but what was behind it?

He knew what protocol demanded. He'd been lying and holding back enough lately, but didn't want to get in trouble later for not following regulations. With a still shaking hand, he thumbed through his directory to Gibbs' phone number.

* * *

><p>They were all at his place in under half an hour. "You are all right, McGee?" Ziva asked, concern in her dark eyes.<p>

"I'm fine. I never opened the door to them. Jethro scared them off."

Tony was dusting the door and the knob for prints, while Gibbs searched the hallway. "You should tell your playmates not to come over when you're trying to sleep, McSlumber. You have your bedtime to think of. You need your beauty sleep. _I_ need _my_ beauty sleep." Tony yawned.

"DiNozzo…"

"Shutting up, boss."

They convened inside Tim's apartment, with the doors closed. Tim told the story of how Jethro's growling at the would-be intruders woke him up.

Gibbs gave the dog a pat. "Give this boy an extra dog treat tonight…Got some prints off the light fixtures in the hall," he added. "I'll take them to Abby in the morning."

"They got through your building's security locks fairly easily," Ziva said. "Those locks are at least 10 to 15 years old. You should talk to the owner about getting something more modern."

"You did the right thing to call, Tim," said Gibbs. "Do you know why anyone would suddenly be threatening you?"

"No," Tim said quickly, although he was always sensitive to possible threats, even if he wouldn't admit to it. He couldn't do his job if he lived in fear. "Everything's just been…routine lately." And it had been, for the most part.

Gibbs gave him a quick look, and Tim tried to keep his face neutral. _Surely,_ Tim thought, _this isn't related to Kinsky case? Must be some other old enemy looking for me…as if that's a comforting thought._

"All right, then," said Gibbs. "I think we've got everything we can get here tonight. I'll have an agent watching your building, 24/7."

"Is that really necessary—"

Gibbs cut off the protest with one wave of the hand. "You have to sleep sometime. So does your dog. Until this threat is eliminated, we'll have your place under surveillance. Not open for debate, McGee. This is protocol."

"McGee, would you like a ride to work in the morning?" asked Ziva. "Well…about five hours from now?"

"That's okay, Ziva. I'm sure I'm safe."

"Take her offer, McGee, or else you're moving in with me," Gibbs said bluntly.

"Fine. Thanks, Ziva. I'll be ready at six."

The team left to salvage some hours of sleep.

* * *

><p>The attempted break-in, if it was that, was still on Tim's mind when he and Ziva arrived at NCIS the next morning. He forced his mind back to the Kinsky case, even while his hand sought out the pebbles and shells which he'd again put in his pocket. He'd grown fond of them.<p>

All seemed to stall until Ducky had news on Kinsky's cause of death. Despite slight pressure from Gibbs, Ducky said he was at a loss to figure it out. If only Gibbs could bring him some sort of action surrounding the sinking of the body, then maybe…And if only Ducky could determine how Kinsky died, Gibbs responded, then maybe…

"I could go back out to the boondocks, boss," Tony volunteered, reluctantly. "Question all the Hamsel Rafting Co. people. I could take McGee with me, and use him for a compass in case I get lost out there. Moss grows on his north side."

"Too far to go on just a hunch," Gibbs said, shaking his head. "I want you to go to Norfolk and talk with the seamen he worked with. Someone must have seen something; seen Kinsky in possession of large sums of money, even if he didn't say anything. Also check his housing unit."

"On it." Tony picked up his bag and left.

Gibbs had Tim try to force more information out of Kinsky's online, phone and bank records. Tim didn't bother grumbling that they'd already gone through them once…this, sometimes, was part of the job: finding what they might have missed. Ziva, meanwhile, tried again to trace Kinsky's path from Norfolk to West Virginia,

After lunch, Tony returned with little to show for his trip. "Only guy that saw Kinsky with a wad of cash was one Seaman Angelo Martinetti." Tony pulled up his particulars on the plasma. "I get the feeling there was bad blood between the two of them, so I don't know how credible a witness he is. Martinetti flat-out said he didn't like Kinski. Called him a dweeb. Still, Martinetti was the only one who seemed to know that Kinsky had cash, so I wouldn't discount him altogether. And he does have an alibi for Friday: he spent all of Friday and Saturday on a painting detail with two others in the officers' lounge."

"What was wrong with Kinski?" Ziva griped. "Why was he not like everyone else, spending all his free time posting on Facebook and Twitter?"

Tim looked stunned. "I only thought to look under the name of Kinsky for Facebook and Twitter accounts, but what if he used an alias…?"

He plunged into computer action, his teammates watching over his shoulder. "He did not have a computer…" Ziva said.

"That we know of," said Gibbs. "But there was his phone."

"There wasn't any record of him posting on either site from his phone," said Tim. "But he went there to read."

"Then how could he…"

"On duty?" Tony mused."

"Yeah," Gibbs mused. "Yeah. McGee—"

"I could drive down there, make a copy of his duty station drive," Tim said. "Then—"

"No. We've done enough driving down there recently. I'll have one of our agents do it and drive up here with it. I'll call the Captain; get it cleared."

"Want me to talk the agent through what we need?"

"No. I want _everything_ that's on that computer. Kinsky didn't have the security clearance to be working on a computer with classified information. There's no need to excise anything."

So it was back to _hurry up and wait._

* * *

><p>Relief came half an hour later when the clock struck three and Gibbs told everyone to take a break. Tim took the opportunity to go see Abby, just for a chat and to see if she'd come up with anything from the fingerprints taken from his hallway. If she was in a good mood, maybe he'd inveigle her into going to the park with him; the day was fine and fresh air was a good thing to be in.<p>

She saw him before he even walked through the lab doors. "Heya, Tim!" she called cheerfully. "Found any more sunken bodies lately?"

"No, but I haven't been looking for—"

As he stepped into the lab, his voice was cut off by sudden loud alarms and flashing lights. "What is—" he tried shouting. The lab glass doors automatically slid shut, but that didn't stop the alarms.

"Hazard!" Abby yelled. "I don't know what—" She tried getting information from her computers, but she had several large programs running on them and these were in the process of saving data before shutting down, rending her attempts ineffective. "Oh, bad word fail safes!" she screamed.

"Stay calm," Tim said, though he too was worried. "It's probably a false reaction…" But that was a hope, and not a belief. He tried to wrest control of another computer, but it, too, was doing what Abby had it programed to. It could be tens of minutes before…

There came a pounding on the door. Tim and Abby turned to see Gibbs, Ducky and Tony in yellow hazmat suits. "We're opening the door!" Gibbs yelled to them, as he punched in the code for the override. In a moment the three had rushed inside. "Are you two all right? You look all right," Gibbs said, touching each in turn on the arm as if to convince his eyes. "Radiation alarms went off. It doesn't look like a threat, though…"

Now the computers were quiet, awaiting instructions. Abby used them to turn off the alarms.

Tony had a Geiger counter in hand. "Boss…" when he waived it over Abby, he got only normal background readings. But over Tim…the results were high.

"Stay calm," Ducky implored. "Everyone, please _stay calm!"_

That was hard to do when the danger was unknown. "Abby, leave. Tim, strip," Gibbs ordered.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "No one throws me out of my lab," she insisted. But then at Gibbs' steely look, she only mumbled, "First time for everything," and went out.

Tony scanned Tim more carefully before he stripped. "Probie, you got something unusual in your pockets?" he asked, a trace of worry in his voice. "Like a teeny-tiny atom bomb?"

"Don't be silly," Tim said, and then looked surprised as he drew out the pebbles and shells he'd been carrying. The Geiger counter clicked like a million munching locusts.

"Holy cow, Tim…"

"Call 911," Ducky directed. "He'll need radiation treatment at hospital."


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

><p>[phoof]<p>

_As Gibbs leans over him in his hospital bed, looking furious, Tim can only gulp and nod_

[/phoof]

* * *

><p>At the hospital, Tim's mind was more on the turn of events up until his arrival at the ER than the tests he was being subjected to. His clothes had been taken from him; a small patch of the pocket would be preserved for Abby's testing, but the clothes would otherwise be incinerated. <em>They were almost new! I'm not made of money!<em> Plus there was no guarantee that he would get his pebbles and shells back. Well, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, if they really were radioactive. The thought made him shiver.

Worse, he would have to do explaining to Gibbs. Gibbs had almost—not quite, but almost—held up the ambulance when it arrived. How did you tell your boss that you honestly didn't know that you were carrying around radioactive material?

"Agent McGee, do you feel any nausea?" one of the doctors asked. "Have you vomited since you found the pebbles and shells? Had any cuts that bled a lot or are still bleeding? Had fatigue, headaches, fever?"

"I have felt a bit nauseous all day," Tim admitted. "I haven't thrown up, though. And no to the rest."

"Good. Your red cell count may be low, though. We'll draw some blood and see where things stand."

"I don't feel bad, though," Tim said. "Can't I just go home? If someone brings me some clothes?"

The doctor shook his head. "Have to keep you here for observation. We'll know more tomorrow."

* * *

><p>Gibbs and the others waited, impatiently, for news in the waiting room. "If his red cell count turns out to be low, they may want to give him a transfusion," Ducky was saying. "But there is still so much we don't know about Timothy's exposure. How long has he had those, where did he get them…"<p>

"If I had to guess, it was in the river," Tony said. "The Potomac. On Rafting Day."

"Why didn't he mention it, if he'd picked those up?" Abby said. No one had an answer for that.

When they were allowed in to see him, Ziva tried to soften the blow she felt was likely to come. "McGee—Tim—understand that we just want to help you before there is—more trouble."

Gibbs cut her off. "Where'd you get those rocks that were in your pocket? And why were you carrying them?" When Tim wasn't forthcoming, he pressed. "I want _answers_, McGee!"

"Sir, I must protest!" said the doctor. "My patient—"

"McGee—" Gibbs' tone was unsympathetic.

"You'd better come clean, Probie," said Tony, with more sympathy. "What have you been hiding from us?"

Tim now felt more worried than he had when the alarms had gone off in Abby's lab. "The last time I told you something…you laughed at me."

"Are you 12?" Tony asked in exasperation. "Grow up! This isn't junior high school."

"That is not helpful, Tony," Ducky chided, and turned to Timothy. "Whatever is troubling you, lad, cannot be as bad as the danger inherent in radiation poisoning!"

Tim took a deep breath and told the story, finishing with, "I just thought…that there was a clue to the case that we might be overlooking."

"And you decided to investigate on your own, instead of coming to me with it?" Gibbs asked severely.

"Well…the last time I had a hunch, the last time I saw something…"

Gibbs leaned forward. "Understand this. You withhold information pertaining to an investigation, you're hampering the investigation. I should bring you up on charges for that."

Tim gulped and nodded. But deep down, he couldn't blame himself, entirely, for his actions. Not if it meant he was back to being a laughing stock.

* * *

><p>Two days later, Tim was released from the hospital…a little weak, a little tired due to the low blood cell count, but not in too bad shape, all things considered. It could have ended so much worse for him, if he'd had a longer exposure to the pebbles and shells. He was to get rest at home for a couple of days before returning to work, and even then would be on desk duty for some weeks until his blood was back to normal. There was too much risk associated with an injury now to send him out to the field.<p>

Ducky offered to have Tim stay with him, but Tim declined the kind offer. He still wasn't comfortable with being around his team, with the truth of his excursion known. So he returned to his apartment, which was still watched by an agent. His walks with Jethro twice a day were brief, and each time he came home exhausted. He had groceries delivered, but most of the time lacked energy to cook. In the evening he had dinner delivered. It was telling that no one on his team offered to bring him meals or to cook for him. They seemed to see the wall that he had thrown up before him (or maybe it had been that he'd yelled _"Get out!"_ at them, that last day in the hospital, when Tony couldn't resist making a joke). The end result was that they were leaving him alone.

_Great. So now I've become an unpleasant person to work with,_ Tim thought, and sighed. _Well, I'll fix it…later. But I just wish I could be proven right._

When he did go back to work, the following Tuesday, the welcoming greetings for him were subdued. Ziva kindly brought him up to speed on the Kinsky case (although she spoke with measured words, as if afraid of upsetting him). Kinsky's work computer had crashed—literally, when someone had knocked it off its desk. It might not be salvageable. Abby, Ziva said, had not been able to trace the source of the radiation, but she was still working on it. Jock Hamsel and his workers had been questioned thoroughly, as had the outfitter, Charlie Stoppard. All seemed innocent…but who else would have been along that stretch of the river?

Furthermore, the Hamsel Rafting crew and Stoppard could not be found to have any connection to Kinsky. No Navy in any of their backgrounds; no recent trips to the Norfolk area. It was beginning to look like the Kinsky case would go unsolved.

Ducky, with no evidence to support foul play, had finally signed off on the death certificate with the cause listed as _undetermined._ This was a blow to him to not be able to solve the mystery. Still, Kinky would occupy a drawer for a few more weeks, in the hope—however dim—that something new might come to light.

* * *

><p>The team got a new case the day that Tim returned to work, and so Gibbs, with Tony and Ziva, headed out. Tim was quietly left behind, without any assignment other than to <em>take it easy.<em> He wondered about that until, in the late morning, he heard someone call his name.

"Nikki! Oh, hi." Nikki Jardine wasn't his favorite person, but he was glad for any friendly contact.

"I'm kind of surprised to see you here, Tim. I heard you were back. I thought you might be taking a lot more time off," she said, stopping at his desk,

"I'm okay. I feel good," he said, puzzled. "You don't need to wear the face mask around me; I'm not giving off radiation."

"Oh, I know that. The mask is because of the perfumes some of the newer employees are wearing. That, and the possible contamination in the air-conditioning."

"Contamination? Is that something new?"

"Well, it hasn't been proven, yet, I guess, but I believe in caution. Where's your team?"

"On assignment, in Maryland. I'm stuck on desk duty," Tim grimaced. "Just as well; they're treating me like an invalid."

She gave him a _wise-up_ look. "More likely, they don't want to have you take leave when they can get work out of you."

"What do you mean? I was out for four work days…"

"You were hurt on the job. You could take weeks and weeks off, with pay."

"But—I was really on my own time, and doing unsanctioned work…"

"That's not how the labor relations board would see it. You were doing work. And you got injured. I assume Vance has told Gibbs and your team to be very careful around you so you don't demand a couple months off and a chance to recuperate in Hawaii. Because, you could. And they do need your expertise."

He looked at her with some awe. "How do you know so much?"

"I make it my duty to keep informed of the health regs. You never know what they might try to hide from us."

_Okay. Even the somewhat paranoid have their uses._ "Nikki," he said on a thought, just as she was about to go, "what do you think of when you think of colored lights and gems and…stuff?"

"Fabulous jewelry," she said with a dreamy expression. "Rich surroundings. Wealth. And pretty words like _glimmer, glitter, glisten, _and _iridescence._ Why? Not _radiation,_ yuck. That's a very ugly word. Get well soon, Tim."

When Nikki had gone, Tim had to admit that there might be some truth in her statements. Not that Tony and Ziva, or even Abby, Ducky or Jimmy would try to hide an administrative benefit from him, but people like Vance (and sometimes, Gibbs) thought of the agency's needs first and employees' needs second. The others may have just felt that Tim was fragile. _Or maybe I should find something better to do than prowl around in their heads._

He remembered, before the radiation incident, thinking that Kinsky must have gone on Twitter or Facebook under a different name. Tim looked through the case file to date, but there was no sign that anyone on the team had looked into that. _Well, I can do that, then._ Why not? He had nothing pressing, and it seemed a shame to let Kinsky's death go unsolved.

And so he started searching, spending hours plugging in any keyword he would think of relating to Kinsky or his hobbies. All led to dead ends, coming up with accounts matching people who sounded nothing at all like a young, introverted sailor.

And then…_iridescent, _Nikki had said. Worth a shot. After several tries, he found an account for KIrideSends on both services. Beating back the desire to hack, Tim simply pulled up the profile on each, His real name was not there, but all of the information provided matched what they knew of Kinsky. It was as if he'd felt that if he hadn't revealed his name, no one could find him. A foolish assumption.

What Tim read made his eyes grow large. There were a number of posts by other people, on Kinsky's Facebook wall and linked to him via Twitter, that spoke of some scientific experiment mentioning light…something that had all participants excited. And…Kinsky was a regular test subject in something. So _that _was where the payoffs were coming from. Did that mean that Kinksy had been murdered when something went wrong?

With clues from the posts, Tim was able to fix on an address in Norfolk. Google maps showed it to be a warehouse area of the city.

_I'll have something to show Gibbs when they get back,_ Tim thought triumphantly. Then, _but why wait for them? If I can solve this case myself, I'll regain their respect._

He printed out a leave slip, filled it out and signed it, and left in on Gibbs' desk with a note. _Not feeling well. Going home._ Maybe this would be the last of the lies he'd have to tell.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

><p>[phoof]<p>

_All around Tim is light…colorful light…_

[/phoof]

* * *

><p>The warehouse, in all its grime, looked like so many others that Tim had been in in his career at NCIS: devoid of colors, lacking generous light, floors and walls needing attention, and dark corners welcoming who-knew-what small creatures. Venturing in would always be distasteful, but he was experienced enough now to not let it get to him.<p>

Except…in those other times, there was always someone at his back. For the first time, he was flying solo.

He wouldn't let himself think of that, or how angry Gibbs might get. That was not in his future. Once he'd solved the Kinsky case, they'd all get off his back; the entire team. He would be worth something in their eyes.

Tim stepped cautiously along a cold cement floor that was stained with forklift tracks, old oil puddles with scoops of sawdust, and the litter of packing material pieces that had escaped their containers. What caught his eye was a door in the far wall; one slightly ajar, with light coming through the crack. Quietly Tim made his way across the cavernous, dimly-lit room and then pulled the door open.

The sight inside made him stop dead. It was nothing at all like the rest of the warehouse. This large room was full of colorful things, from file folders to posters tacked onto corkboard to small toys on tables and desks. An enormous screen stretched nearly from wall to wall in the back third of the room. Faint, colorful lights played across it in meaningless shapes without a pattern.

Since the room was unoccupied, Tim moved inside, slowly, taking it all in. The warning bells in his mind urged him to _proceed with caution,_ and one hand neared his sig…just in case. There were a number of computers in the room. Tim woke up one but found it to be locked. Of course. There wasn't time now to try to hack in; he was just looking for information that involved Kinsky. Many people really still did print out files onto paper. He might get lucky that way. He started looking through the first set of colored file folders that he came to.

Or…he could just look in the lone file cabinet on this side of the room, the one labeled 'Kinsky'.

"Oh!"

Tim jumped and turned to face the speaker.

"Congratulations, Agent McGee. You found us," she said simply.

"Sheila? Sheila Flynn?" That cute guide from Hamsel Rafting?

"Hi," she smiled, and then the smile dropped. "You're more clever than I gave you credit for. I thought our tracks were pretty well covered."

He shrugged, and tried to imitate a Tony poker-face. "NCIS always finds the answers. It's part of being good investigators."

"Oh, I suppose now you're going to tell me that the rest of your team, or maybe all 48 of you who came out rafting on the fourth, are right behind you and about to storm this building."

"I guess you'll find out the hard way," he bluffed.

She twirled one of her curls. "You probably thought I was some sort of hippie-escapee from an Ivy League school and suburbia; living a romantic life in the woods and the mountains while still young, didn't you? Someone avoiding 'real life' to play on the river all day."

He didn't answer that. She pretty much had read his thoughts, though. "What is this place?" he asked instead.

"Thanks for your interest," she said with a mocking smile. "The next tour begins in…" she pretended to look at an imaginary watch. "…right now, in fact!"

"I would appreciate hearing from you that this is all above-board, or government-sanctioned, and there's no law-breaking going on here," he said as his brain failed to halt his mouth. He swore silently,

"Whatever," she said. "Anyway, this is a research facility. Unfortunately, land doesn't come cheap in this area. This is the best we could afford. Sorry about the outer appearance; we're not leasing that space."

"Researching what?"

At that, she looked just a little disturbed, or frightened. "I like you, Agent McGee," she then said. "Look; can't you just get out, and pretend you haven't seen this place? I swear we're not doing anything bad here, but our work is top secret. If our competitors knew what we were doing, it could ruin us! So we have to be really, really careful. Come on." She took his arm and steered him toward the door.

"But…"

"Please?" her blue eyes were saucer-sized, and pleading. "I mean, I could throw you out. I'll bet you don't have a warrant to search this place, do you?"

"I can get one," he shrugged. "Be reasonable. I'm investigating the death of a sailor. I've traced a connection to him here. There's a file cabinet with his name on it, in big letters, just 20 feet from us!"

"That? No, that's for our founder, Jane Kinsky. She started this lab back in 1956, though not in this location."

"You are very glib," he remarked, and for just a second, turned his head toward the cabinet…

…and that was when she knocked him out with the butt of her gun.

* * *

><p>He came to, strapped in a chair in front of that big screen. Electrodes were attached to various parts of his body, with several on his head, and he had the low-motion feeling that he recognized as being drugged with something.<p>

"Is this what you did to Kinsky? Robert Kinsky, the sailor, that is?"

"He was a willing test subject, and we paid a reasonable sum for his clinical trials," Sheila acknowledged.

"Did you kill him?"

She didn't answer that. "Agent McGee, have you ever thought about how much of the brain's power is wasted? You men, for example, spend far too much time everyday thinking about sex."

"I wouldn't call that _wasted_, necessarily…"

"There are so many powers of the mind, waiting to be tapped. Telekinesis. Telepathy…"

"Spoon-bending?"

"…Teleportation, and many others. Other governments are leading in this research. This has been going on since before the Cold War. We're only trying to catch up."

"Wait! The US government is involved in this…stuff?" Then he remembered Trent Kort's actions over the years and decided he shouldn't be surprised by any revelations. "Say, do you know a guy, tall, bald, British accent…?"

"No. Hush. Bob Kinsky was a good study subject. We've been floundering now for a week due to his loss. Can I convince you to take his place? We can't pay much; in fact I'd prefer not to pay you much at all, since you already make a good salary. I shouldn't have paid Bob so much but I felt sorry for him; lonely and living on a pittance."

"You're _asking_ me, and yet you have me tied up!"

"I was trying to be nice. Never mind that, then. You're our new subject."

He tensed. "What are you going to do to me?"

She leaned close to him, and whispered, "I'm going to bend your mind into 100 origami folds."

Tim cried out as a needle with something in it was jabbed into his arm.

* * *

><p>It was after five when Gibbs, Ziva and Tony returned to NCIS. Tim's desk was noticeably unoccupied, even though there was still almost an hour left in the normal workday.<p>

Gibbs picked up the leave slip on his desk. " 'Not feeling well. Going home,'" he read from the note with it, while Tony and Ziva looked curious. "Wonder when he left?"

"I believe you can tell, with the admin function on your computer, when he signed off on his, can you not?" asked Ziva.

"Good thinking…1:57 p.m." Gibbs pulled out his cell phone and called the agent on duty outside Tim's apartment building. "Pelletier, just checking to see that McGee got home safely."

"_I haven't seen him since he left for work this morning, Gibbs. His car's not here."_

"Dang. He's gone rogue."

"No answer on McGee's cell, boss," said Tony, clicking his own phone off.

"Get Abby up here. She can look at his computer."

"Yes, Gibbs."

"Tony, call Hamsel Rafting. See if they've seen him today."

"Calling now."

Abby came at a run. "McGee has escaped?"

"We want to find him. Can you tell from his computer what he was doing on it today?"

"The history? Easily."

"Wait; how can you log on without his password and PIN?"

She looked at Tony and snorted. "Tony, I could hack when I was _12._ Piece of chocolate cake." Indeed, in seconds she had access. The others crowded around her. "Okay, Facebook…Twitter,,,look at all these attempts he made to find someone's account. Kinsky's, I'll bet. _KIrideSends._ Oh, that's good. Hard enough to not easily be found, if you want to hide. And here's something: an address in Norfolk. Looks like a warehouse. That's the last page he looked at."

"Come on!" Gibbs said. Tony and Ziva had to run to keep up with him.

* * *

><p>All around Tim was light…colored light. It was beautiful, like pale gemstones. Pinks and light purples, blues, greens, yellows. It made him happy; that was his overriding feeling.<p>

He didn't know what the colors meant, or where they had come from. They were just _there,_ and that was enough. He knew that he wanted to look at them forever; to let their iridescent light wash over him, like the softest of blankets. Nothing else mattered.

A slight nudging feeling made him look up and to the right. He didn't know why, but he went along with it. Then it felt like he should focus on something. On what? _Something._ Out of the soup of colored lights evolved one light, one shape, that was darker than the others. It darkened even more, going from pale blue to a very deep blue in a matter of seconds. Tim whimpered. He didn't want to see this. He wanted the lighter colors back. That was all he wanted to see.

The dark blue cloud took a shape; like that of a man. A man in a…Tim didn't want to put his mind to this, but he did so anyway. The man-figure, with only a shadow for a face, was shaped like a seaman in a blue crackerjack uniform. _Go away!_ Tim thought, angrily, and he strained against the harness holding him in place. _Go away!_

With a silent roar, the sailor shape disintegrated, leaving red spots and then a glowing trail of lights where it had been.

_I did it! I got rid of it!_ Tim thought triumphantly.

Behind him, Sheila Flynn made notes on her clipboard, smiling. This one would do fine. He was a fast learner. The resultant radiation was powerful, but faded quickly. _Oh, yes; our benefactors will love this subject._ _I just have to keep him going longer than Kinsky._


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

><p>[phoof]<p>

_Ziva's face is icy and she has a knife up against the man's throat_

[/phoof]

* * *

><p>"Hello, Sheila." Her lab associate walked in with no overt curiosity as to what was going on in the research facility's space.<p>

"Oh! Hi! I, uh, have a new test subject."

"Do tell. Another seaman? They're plentiful and mostly expendable."

She laughed. "I know. 'Lose one, the Navy will always find another.' But no, this one's not Navy, though he _is_ DoD. And I think he'll be better. He has a keener intellect."

"Oh? Well, that can only be good. How much are we paying this one?" He turned a mellow eye in Tim's direction. Tim, for his part, was still lost in the colors he saw.

"This one's a freebee," Sheila smirked.

"Sheila, you know we talked about this…"

"But he's just right! And he was snooping around. I had to get rid of him somehow."

He sighed. "I do fear the walls are going to crash around us someday, and that may be soon. What will be your plan then, Sheila? How will you get out?"

"Nothing's going to happen," she said fiercely. "We're approaching a breakthrough! I can feel it. And what have _you_ done lately for the company?"

"I have made contact with potential buyers. Enticed them. Told them that the dog-and-pony-show is not quite ready for demonstration, but I have them salivating."

"How many buyers?"

"Not too many. Enough so that they know they'll have to do some serious bidding. Not so many so that they feel that others will know about their 'secret weapon'."

"Good, good. Let's aim for the end of the month. Our 'volunteer' should be in perfect shape by then,"

"That's what you said about Kinsky, and look at how he wound up."

* * *

><p>"I can drive, boss," Tony held out his hand for the MCRT truck keys. He itched to do something, in the hour-plus drive to Newport in rush hour traffic, than just be a passenger.<p>

Gibbs shook his head. "I'll drive."

"He means, you would not drive fast enough to suit him," Ziva said with a faint smile.

"You gonna come or you gonna jabber?" Gibbs snapped. His team jumped into the truck, and Gibbs spun it out of the garage going faster than Navy Yard regulations permitted.

* * *

><p>Ziva was working the truck's laptop as they drove. "The address McGee found is a large building, owned by Argo Fitum Ltd, which owns a number of similar old buildings in the area. This one is uninhabited except for a space leased to Nelto Thinkers. Not incorporated."<p>

"What do they do?" asked Tony, otherwise watching scenery go by at breakneck speed.

"I cannot tell. There is little information about them. One building permit on file for them from late 2010. It only says 'research facility; non-chemical, non-biological'."

"That could describe my high school," said Tony. "I swear, some days I was sure we were lab rats for some sick, twisted plot by the principal. Or at least by my home room teacher, Mrs. Fuggly." He shuddered.

"Tony, call our contacts at the FBI and Norfolk PD. See if they've been watching the building for any reason."

"Okay, boss. Uh, you suspect something?"

"Yep. Trouble."

* * *

><p>"Turn it off, Sheila. Our studies don't have a lot of data on long-term exposure yet."<p>

With a sigh, Sheila complied.

Tim cried out as the colors suddenly disappeared, leaving him in a room of unpainted cinder walls, exposed pipes and small colorful things here and there.

"How are you feeling?"

Tim looked at the man standing in front of him. Did he know him? Was he that invading sailor he'd seen? Who else could he be? "Put it back!" Tim yelled. "Put it back! The colors! Now!" He squeezed his eyes shut and made a face.

The man, looking a bit surprised and disturbed, stepped aside—just in time, as a small table behind where he'd been shattered into many pieces with a _boom!_

"Good grief, Sheila! That's incredible!"

Tim opened his eyes again, and his face started to relax. "Who _are_ you people?"

Sheila only said, "I think the dog and pony are ready to show, anytime."

* * *

><p>"Boss, the FBI said they know nothing, but in the way that makes me think they know something. Norfolk PD has nothing. I spoke to an old buddy there; him, I trust."<p>

"Don't have time to play footsie with the FBI now," Gibbs growled. "We'll have to go it alone."

"We still have McGee," Ziva said loyally. "Maybe he is working out a plan of capture right now."

* * *

><p>"You have demonstrated the power of the mind, my friend," said the man to Tim. "It has so many more uses than most people would even dream of."<p>

"What do you mean?"

"Properly conditioned and stimulated, we believe that the mind can be a priceless weapon…vast, deep, and of nearly-limitless power. You just proved that to be true. Your anger was directed at me, and you reached out to destroy me. Instead, I ducked, and you took out a defenseless table."

"I…that's impossible. I don't believe you."

"You should. You, and Seaman Kinsky, before you, showed how destructive you can be. All we had to do was properly tune your mind into a cloud of pleasurable images."

"The colors…"

"Yes. Then any threat to them was something you felt compelled to act upon."

Tim shook his head. Unlike Abby, he didn't harbor any openness toward Weird Stuff; the fantastical ideas expressed in supermarket check-out lanes tabloids. He was grounded in proven science. "I don't know what you were smoking, but you're never going to convince me. It's all lies and parlor tricks. Look; as far as I can see you're not doing anything illegal here. Somehow you're involved in Seaman Kinsky's life; maybe his death. I'm going to take both of you into NCIS for questioning."

"What's the charge?"

"I don't have to charge you with anything to question you. If you refuse, though…"

"This is tiresome, and I'm hungry. Leave him a bottle of water within arm's reach and let's get out of here," Sheila sighed.

* * *

><p>Gibbs, Tony and Ziva entered the old building quietly. From the building floor plans that Ziva had downloaded, they knew where Nelto Thinkers' space was. It had two exitsentrances. Gibbs sent Tony to the far one; he and Ziva would go in front.

Feet away from the front exit, they ran into someone familiar. "Hamsel? Jock Hamsel?" Gibbs looked at the white-haired rafting company proprietor. "Little far from your river, aren't you?" It seemed to click, then. Hamsel, in whose territory the body had been found. Hamsel, now here where the case had pulled Tim.

Hamsel only put a finger to his lips, and beckoned them in, quietly. "Got your man in there. McGee. No, don't arrest me if you want him saved."

"Is that a threat?" Ziva said in the iciest of tones, a knife up against his throat. "If you have harmed McGee…"

"Put that thing away," he growled. "This is bigger than you'd believe."

Gibbs got between him and the door. "What's your role in this, Hamsel?"

Hamsel got out his ID. _Jock Hamsel Meyerson, FBI,_ it read. "I've been building a case on these people for a year. I think we have enough to take them down."

"What's the charge?"

"Four reckless deaths in lab experiments—homicides, and I hope to get the chance to persuade the DA that it's murder. But I'm just staying one step ahead of the CIA."

"Oh?"

"These people are developing weapons—human weapons—for sale to our country's enemies."

"And you know who's behind this?"

"I do. And I'm about to blow my cover. Follow me." He opened the door.

"Jock!" Sheila said, in surprise. "We were just about to go out. Day's done." She reached for the light switch.

"Didn't I see someone else come in here earlier, Sheila? A young man? I've seen him somewhere."

"Well, that's the good news, Jock," she said with a bright smile. "We have a new test subject. And he's working out so well that we're going to get right to work on the buyers tomorrow. In fact, we might as well sell him!"

"You're not selling anyone," Gibbs said, coming in, gun leveled. Ziva was right behind him, her sig also in position.

"Agent…Gibbs, is it?" Sheila said, her voice now faint. "I don't know what you think you see, but I swear—"

"Can it, Sheila. The show's over," said Hamsel, bringing out his own Glock. "You're under arrest in connection with the murder of Robert Kinsky, Alicia Johnson, Norman Pine and Glen Horne."

"Ziva." Gibbs jerked his head, indicating she should see to Tim. They could see where he was, partway across the room.

Sheila's lab associate slipped an arm up from his hiding spot then, and turned the machine that powered the light effects back on.

"What in the world—" exclaimed Tony, who'd come in the back entrance.

"Turn that thing off!" Gibbs ordered.

Ziva had almost reached Tim's chair. She was surprised to see his face suddenly lapse into an expression of utter delight. "McGee! Relax, and I will undo your restraints."

"Hey! Watch out!" Hamsel yelled.

Tim almost cried at the return of his friends, the pretty colors. This, certainly, must be a high evolutionary point for humans. How could it not be, if it felt this good? But then a shadow passed in front of him; human-shaped, and that enraged him. "Get out of my sight!" he screamed. "Destroy you! Destroy you!"

"Ziva!" Tony cried. "Down!" And he fired.

* * *

><p>Minutes later, they were mopping up. Sheila was handcuffed. So was the lab associate with the shoulder gunshot wound. "Didn't recognize you for a minute there without your wet suit on, Southland," Gibbs said, deceptively calmly."<p>

Tony looked disgusted. "Too bad you can't be tried by a jury of your real peers, Southland. Most of us NCIS employees find rot in the ranks like you to be disgusting." Agent Southland only glowered.

"So that is how it happened," said Ziva. "Southland worked as an NCIS diver, but moonlighted here, and found test subjects. When Kinsky died, he and Sheila Flynn transported the body to West Virginia, not expecting it to be found."

"I think we'll find the other three bodies in the same general area," said Hamsel. "We'll start looking…with reliable divers."

"_My_ case, Hamsel," Gibbs said firmly.

"I'm not into territories, Gibbs," said Hamsel. "I'm willing to work with you. I just want this whole thing solved."

Tim was shaking his head. "Ziva, I'm so, so sorry," he said. He wouldn't look at her. "I almost killed you. And I would have. I think. I still don't understand what happened."

"It is all right, McGee. I was not harmed."

"How did Kinsky die?" asked Gibbs. "Our ME has drawn a blank."

Hamsel shrugged. "Apparently his mind wore out. I'm not a doctor, but I'd suggest that your ME look more closely at the brain tissues. I don't think the mind was meant to take the abuse these people were giving it. It may have _seemed_ wonderful, touching the pleasure centers of the brain, but…all that resulting mind-radiation…I've seen it, but I still don't know that I believe it."

* * *

><p>Gibbs let Tony do the driving back to the Navy Yard.<p>

Sitting beside Tim, Gibbs said, "You know you're in a peck of trouble, Tim."

Tim gulped. As provoked as Gibbs must be with him now, it still meant something that he had used his first name. "Yeah. I thought it would turn out better. I thought I'd have the upper hand."

"That's why we don't send agents in alone in a situation like that. You know that."

"Yeah. I do."

"Why, Tim?"

"I…screwed up in the last case, and wanted to make up for it. I wanted a plus on my record."

"You think I keep score?"

"Tony does," Ziva said lightly, thus getting a look from Gibbs.

"No, I don't." said Tony. "I lost track last year and never got around to starting to count again…don't head slap me while I'm driving, boss, thank you."

"Tim, I don't expect perfection. You all…we all…will make mistakes from time to time. All I want is for us to pick ourselves up and get going on the next assignment. Don't look back."

"McGee, I actually think you were pretty clever, figuring out the Twitter thing and the location in Norfolk," Tony smiled. "Honestly, I do."

"Really? Thanks, Tony."

Ziva leaned in from the truck's inside window. "Did you hear what Southland got out of Sheila Flynn? You _did_ see lights at the bottom of the river. Kinsky had built up some radiation which bled out into the surrounding riverbed, and that caused the light display. Your disturbing of the water broke the effect in light refraction. It was transitory. Ducky did not even find radiation on the body, although I do not know how much he checked for it."

"That could have happened to me," Tim said, with a shudder. "Boss, are you going to put a reprimand in my file?"

Gibbs thought. "Director would have to sign off on it. And he's on vacation for another week…let's see how I feel when he gets back. I may have calmed down by then; who knows?"

"I've learned my lesson!" Tim declared.

The others were grinning.

- END -


End file.
